


Freshly-Hunted Noodle Soup

by heroictype (swanreaper)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 06:43:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6970408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanreaper/pseuds/heroictype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stomach bugs and throat spiders can be removed. Sadly, not all illnesses can be addressed surgically. While a scientist is sick, he does not have to be self-reliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freshly-Hunted Noodle Soup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mr_reblogbutton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_reblogbutton/gifts).



> Part of an art/fic trade with mr_reblogbutton! 
> 
> "Germ" is definitely a scientific term. And also, there are so many variations on "bunny," so thanks to canon for awakening me to that.

These were the symptoms:

  1. He'd spent most of the day sneezing when, as far as he could tell, no allergens were present.
  2. He'd begun experiencing blockages in his throat.
  3. He'd developed something - not quite a headache, but that "stuffed with cotton" feeling that could grow into a headache if he didn't baby himself somewhat.



Of course, what sealed the deal was when he sneezed and found that he could no longer breathe through one nostril. That was when Carlos knew, beyond any reasonable doubt, what the scientific evidence said: he was getting sick.

Although he knew, he had to hope otherwise; maybe it would be different this time. So, hypothesis, as opposed to theory or law: if he got sick, then tomorrow was going to suck. The words shared most of their letters and so were related concepts, scientifically speaking.

He warned Cecil at home, with an apologetic smile. "You may not want to kiss me for a couple of days, babe. I'm coming down with a cold. Although, because we've been kissing a lot, it may be too late… Oh. I'm sorry." He rested his elbow on the table, and put his chin in his hand. "Also, I don't want to stop kissing. I like kissing you. It's a very pleasant experience."

Cecil stood for a moment, holding a casserole dish and digesting the information. He screwed up his face, and his eyebrows shifted as if they were trying to go in two different directions. These directions were _Oh, no, Carlos!_ and _...Kissing? Yes. Let's do more of that._  He settled on exclaiming, "Honey-bunny!"

That expressed it all rather neatly. He set the dish on the table, slipped off the dog-paw patterned oven mitts, and kissed Carlos' forehead. "Ooh! You're a little warm! It's happening already!"

"Yes? Scientifically speaking, it would have probably started at least a few days ago. But I can't know until the symptoms occur. That happened today, as far as I can determine according to my linear perception of experiences."

"Well… well! You need to rest tonight, okay? And…" Cecil fussed, claiming Carlos' hand and squeezing it and kissing the back, all within the space of one breath. "You can have as many kisses as you want. Even if it wasn't too late. I would never withhold kisses from you, dear Carlos, no matter the cost."

Carlos smiled. "Awww. Maybe you wouldn't, but you have to think about your own health, too."

"I am healthiest," Cecil declared, "When I get to express my love for you. Otherwise, I don't feel very well at all."

"Scientifically speaking, I don't know if it works that way. But I appreciate the thought." Carlos kissed the back of Cecil's hand, too. "Especially since I feel similarly. Mostly, though, I wanted to let you know that I'll probably be home tomorrow, and there is also a high probability that I will be grouchy."

Cecil sat down, and began distributing casserole. The ingredients were indistinguishable - it qualified as its own distinct food group, really - but it smelled good, like something that wouldn't give them food poisoning at all. 

"You just let me know if you need anything, okay? Anything. I mean it," Cecil said.

"The moon?" Carlos tilted his head to one side, but he was smiling.

Cecil treated his boyfriend to an exaggerated pout. "Anything real, you know that."

They had dinner, and they talked about their days. They watched some TV, and Carlos started coughing. Every time he coughed, Cecil took his hand and squeezed. He squeezed back, and sighed. And then coughed. Scientifically speaking, the trouble with colds was really the discomfort that latched on to reflexive, or even instinctual, behaviors. There were evolutionary reasons that breathing was not typically painful.

* * *

That night, Carlos had trouble getting to sleep. It was difficult to breathe, and he kept shaking himself up with coughing, and then the coughing began to sting. He rolled in and out of Cecil's arms, and felt the other man running a hand over his back occasionally. He kicked his feet out of the covers, and then wrestled them back under.

"Sorry," he mumbled at some point, "keeping you up."

But there was silence. Cecil must have fallen asleep after all. So that was good, at least. He wasn't sure when he followed, but the next sensation he registered was auditory, and came far too soon. The noise of his alarm blaring. Well, scientifically speaking, that was music. The noises had a pattern. It was one that he liked. But that morning, his body felt heavy and hot. He would turn off his alarm and get up, but in just a second.

Okay, two seconds. Three. Actually, it had probably been a couple of minutes now.

"Honey?" Cecil stretched over him, and a moment later, the alarm stopped.

"Sorry," he said. His voice came out rasping, and too soft. He swallowed, intending to try again, but his throat burned. The heat lingered in there, too, swelling up into a lump. He said nothing. He sat up, instead. The contents of his head sloshed from side to side.

Cecil sat up, too. Carlos was too busy counting the stars on their covers to look at him; he was trying to pull together the energy to move. It would only take a little, he just needed to find it. There had to be some energy, beyond that which kept his heart beating and lungs moving, trapped in between some cells somewhere. Something he could redistribute.

"Carlos?" Cecil leaned around to kiss Carlos on the forehead, and withdrew anxiously, but placed the back of his hand against the scientist's cheek for good measure. "Ooh, no, poor bunny…"

"Fever, yes. Going to get medicine. Then call the lab. Let them know I won't be in," Carlos said shortly. What even were sore throats? Air really, really wasn't supposed to burn against flesh like that. Colds were not very scientific and he did not like them at all. He did not like anything that kept him away from science, but he knew better than to risk contaminating samples. He did not like that he was probably going to make Cecil sick, too, and he angled his face away, as if the virus wouldn't just spread all over their sheets.

Cecil considered Carlos. The scientist's shoulders slumped; he inhaled sharply, and then he curled in on himself entirely, coughing. The radio host's hands fluttered anxiously around his boyfriend, his eyes wide. Then he said slowly, "Oh, no. No, you're not."

"What?" Carlos squinted, then pressed his wrists against his eyes. "I have to." 

"No. You're not, because _I_ am going to do those things. Look at me?" Cecil asked.

Carlos did, and. He tried to focus, and. Oh. Just another minute. He pressed his head against Cecil's chest. Just another minute, then he'd get up.

"Carlos. Listen to me. I need you to listen to me. This is important, alright? Because you are important."

Carlos nodded, without lifting his head. Okay. Listening.

"I'll even call in for you. You can go back to sleep, after I bring you your medicine. Okay?"

"Mmm," Carlos offered. "You don't have to. I can."

"Okay… Well… I want to?" Cecil said gently. His voice was warm in a way that the sheets weren't, in a way that totally contrasted the dense heat of the scientist's own body. Then Cecil asked for _"just a second_ ," and Carlos nodded. Of course. As many seconds as he needed. Infinite seconds, Carlos wanted to say, but did not. Because he didn't know if there were infinite seconds. Well, there would be, but no one could experience that. He wanted to tell Cecil that he could take his time.

Although, he didn't want to talk, or swallow, or breathe. He wanted to lie down, mainly.

Anyway, Cecil wasn't there anymore. Cecil was in the bathroom. He returned a moment later with a cup of water and two vibrantly orange pills. He lifted Carlos' hand, palm up, and pressed the medicine carefully into the center. Carlos nodded, and placed them into his mouth, one at a time. Cecil placed the glass in Carlos' hand with similar care, and he drank.

"Thanks, Ceec," he whispered.

Cecil stood at the bedside a moment longer, stroking Carlos' hair and saying things. Things about love, taking it easy, lying down. Things that sounded nice, scientifically speaking. The last one, especially; he'd just been thinking about that. He lay down, curling onto his side and angling his stuffed nostril into the pillow. It was a scientific solution that helped with the pressure, a little bit.

He heard Cecil laugh, a short sound, not so much amused as fond. "Aww, Carlos. Good… good. I'll give the lab a call, and be right back. I love you."

Carlos tried to sleep, and although it was difficult to consciously ease into unconsciousness, having those last three words to hold onto made it easier. Scientifically speaking, love was a unique substance. Sometimes, it was the most powerful stimulant you could ask for. At other times, like now, it was practically a sedative, mild, gentle, organic. It was enough to make a difference.

* * *

The next time Carlos woke up, bright daylight spilled in between the blinds. It was green and pulsing, but definitely daylight. He rolled over and pressed his face against the pillow. His head throbbed softly. The pressure radiated up from his nose, which was now completely clogged, and each breath he sucked past his teeth ground its way down his throat.

This was disorienting. Scientifically speaking, he felt gross, sticky with a combination of post-nap sweat and fever. How long had he slept?

Cecil was gone. No. Scientifically speaking, Cecil was around somewhere, physically existent. Probably in the apartment. Hopefully in the apartment. He wanted Cecil. Yes.

He slipped out of bed, walked down the hallway, and peered at the various doorways. Cecil wasn't in the bathroom, or the storage closet - unlikely, but - wait, why had he even thought about that? Okay, to be fair, it was a walk-in, and so not impossible.

He moved on. Cecil was not in the living room. Maybe he really wasn't home. Carlos didn't know what time it was, so maybe Cecil had already left for the station. If so, it was almost impossible to tell when he'd be back. The scientist wandered into the kitchen.

Oh. There he was, in front of the stove. Probably. His boyfriend. He ran through the list of traits. Not tall, not short. The right hair. The right alien-cat boxers and Night Vale Community News Network 20- _(ominous red smudges)_ baseball game t-shirt. Yup. That was Cecil.

"Ceec?"

"Carlos!" Cecil spun around. One hand held a bowl and the other held a dripping spoon. He hurried over to Carlos, nearly hit him with the spoon going in for a hug, then pivoted on his heel and put the items on the table. "Aha, sorry… Anyway! What are you doing up? I was just about to come check on you."

"I'm not feeling well," Carlos replied simply.

"Ooh, my sick puppy… Come here..."

"Mmm," Carlos murmured. It was part agreement, part just fulfilling a perceived obligation to reply to Cecil's distress. Carlos swayed a little, took Cecil's hand, squeezed.

Cecil pulled Carlos into his arms, to steady him and to soothe him, and also just for the closeness. He kissed Carlos' forehead, but not to measure anything. Carlos made another soft sound, even less distinct.

Cecil said, "Shh. Why don't you sit down, Carlos?"

Carlos sat down at the table, and immediately pressed his forehead into his hands.

Cecil rested a hand between Carlos' shoulder blades. He asked, "Do you have a headache?"

Carlos shook his head. "No. Something else."

Cecil replied, "Okay. Listen, I bet you need something to eat. It's science, right? You've got to stay nourished, especially while you're sick. Give me just a second, and the soup should be done."

"That's. Yes. Scientifically accurate." Carlos had to steel himself to swallow. "What… kind of soup is it?"

"Chicken-noodle. I just used that chicken we had… I'll get more, don't worry… but I hunted the noodles myself. I wanted it to be fresh, just for you."

Now, Carlos looked up, and smiled. "Thanks, honey. That sounds nice."

Cecil brushed a strand of hair out of Carlos' face. It wouldn't have been unfair to say that Carlos looked terrible; it was just that Cecil doubted such a thing was possible. But the scientist looked unusually slight in his baggy t-shirt. His movements were contained, stiff and sore. His breath was audible through parted lips, still catching every so often as a cough. So while Carlos' hair was, in fact, perfectly fine, Cecil didn't stop. He just stood there for a moment, rubbing his boyfriend's temples.

"Hey… Carlos?"

"Mmm?"

"Sorry. I just… You knew this was coming?"

"I had an idea."

"What… would you normally have done when this happened?"

Carlos drummed his fingers on the table. "Well, Cecil. A scientist is self-reliant."

"Ah," Cecil murmured. His heart beat in his chest. His lungs worked, a more even job than his boyfriend's were doing.

He remembered Carlos' old apartment. It was easy to imagine him shuffling around in his night-lab coat, mumbling to himself, fixing himself tea when he should have been focusing on nothing at all. It was also irrelevant, imagining that, but it was really easy to do.

He leaned down, and hugged Carlos around the shoulders. It was a little awkward, while he was standing and Carlos was sitting, but it was worth it when Carlos straightened enough to nuzzle against Cecil. It was a vague, small movement, and everything in Cecil's life that had led up to that instant was worth it, without question. All that Cecil wanted out of every reality where he had the choice was for this beautiful man to feel better. The radio host said, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Carlos replied, and the soft rasp in his voice ached differently in Cecil. 

He almost sat down next to Carlos, to be that much nearer to him. But, Cecil remembered, the soup. He shouldn't linger; he was sure some food would be more practical, somehow. Maybe the effect wouldn't be immediate, or even much, but anything to help Carlos feel better. Cecil reclaimed the spoon, and the bowl, which had something squirming in it. He returned to the stove and hummed his own theme song while he worked.

Carlos waited at the table for a few minutes, but soon enough, found himself gravitating toward the radio host.

"Hey, Ceec," he murmured. Just a polite warning, given that Cecil was working with hot liquids, and then he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's middle.

"Honey? You know, if you've got a question, it's got to be, 'hey, _there_ , Cecil' or it doesn't count."

"Dork," Carlos muttered, but he buried a smile in Cecil's shoulder.

"Okay, but seriously, did you want something? Because I'll get you anything. I can even run to the store! I don't have to be at the station till tonight."

"Mmmm. No, no, I'm good." Carlos rested his cheek on Cecil's shoulder and pressed the top of his head against Cecil's neck.

"Oh - oh, gosh," Cecil stammered. Carlos' skin was far too hot against his, and slightly damp, which was not a pleasant word to describe flesh. "If you're sure. Poor snugglebun... Well, you can have some soup in just a second, anyway."

He switched off the stove and reached for a ladle. Carlos shifted with him, clinging closely to his back. Cecil paused, pressing a hand over Carlos'.

"Do you want to eat on the couch? That might be more comfortable."

Carlos nodded. Cecil felt it, rather than saw it, and that was enough for him. "Go ahead, honey. I'll bring this out to you in a minute."

* * *

Here is something about pain: it doesn't vanish. But it doesn't have to exist in isolation, either.

The soup had the following characteristics: warm, filling, easy to swallow. It still ached on the way down, but Carlos ate in fast gulps around the lump in his throat, and let it settle inside of him. Cecil brought him more medicine, too, and kept kissing and touching his forehead, to keep an eye on Carlos' fever. Maybe also for a few other reasons. Cecil was, scientifically speaking, such a great boyfriend.

"Love you," he mumbled into Cecil's chest. The other man was situated in the corner where the armrest met the back of the couch, so that he could lean in a stable position and thus allow Carlos to lean more comfortably against him. The scientist was sore all over, passively aching. It didn't feel like he was getting enough air even if he knew he had to be. His head still wouldn't do him the decency of hurting or not. It just persisted in pulsing enough to make clear thinking difficult, and doubling the beat whenever he moved.

But at the same time, Cecil was stroking his hair again. His fingers threaded through mussed strands, brushing Carlos' scalp, and that alone was such a wholly different sensation from everything his body was doing. He didn't have to worry about his own body at all. Let it fight off infection, that was - if not fine, then acceptable. He could focus on the heart beating underneath him, instead.

"Thanks, Ceec," he murmured.

"Hm?"

"Taking care of me." He turned his head, and kissed the space over Cecil's heart absently, just because it was the place he could reach.

"Oh, it's nothing, bunny…"

"Shh. 'S a lot, scientifically speaking. It means a lot… that meaning is something… so it is a lot. Science."

"Science," Cecil agreed quietly.

Carlos smiled, somewhat fuzzily. "It's a lot better than before, you know?"

"Oh?"

"A scientist can be self-reliant… but it's kind of nice to not have to be. Really nice, scientifically speaking."

"Really?"

"Mhmmm." Carlos tried to scootch upward, closer to Cecil. There really wasn't any space between them as it was, but Cecil adjusted to hold him more tightly, and kissed the top of his head.

"Oh. Good. I was worried that… I don't know." Cecil's lips quirked, only holding half of a smile.

"Worried it was annoying or overbearing?"

There was a pause.

"Uh. Well, yes."

Carlos shook his head. "Mmm. No. I was just surprised. I probably shouldn't have been. I know you, babe."

"Well, you know. More than worrying about that, I was just worried about you."

"Right. You were, weren't you? Mhmm… You're nice. You're a sweetheart."

"Aww, Carlos..."

"No. No, listen. See, I could do these things. Food. Tissue-gathering. If I had to, I could, but because of you, I don't; I can just…"  He clung to his boyfriend's chest, nuzzled against him, and then rested there again. "That's a demonstration. See? Do you know what I mean?"

"I guess so."

Carlos peered up enough to see Cecil smiling properly. He sighed, and promised, "And when you catch this next week, I'll do the same for you."

"Ooh, gosh. Thank you." Cecil laughed quietly, and winced in the same breath. "But worry about yourself for now, okay, Carlos?"

"Okay. In that case, you should keep doing that thing you were doing. The components were my hair and your fingertips. Stroking?"

"Tsk. I don't know… That's a pretty tall order." Cecil teased, but he had already complied, resuming the motion. "Well, alright. Just for you."

"I love you, too, Ceec."  
  
And like that, it wasn't so bad. The coughing, the aching, all of that would pass. The germs would lead a short and bitter life. When that was done, the humans would still be there, just as in love.


End file.
